Bedroom Eyes
by the daroga
Summary: Susan finds another door. Crossover with XFiles


**Title:** Bedroom Eyes  
**Fandoms**: _X-Files_, _The Chronicles of Narnia_  
**Pairing**: #16, Mulder/Susan

**Word Count**: 1,316  
**Rating**: PG  
**Notes**: Don't own, yadda yadda.

"What are you doing here?" She looked down at where he lay on the couch, her slight, inverted figure at odds with the imperious cast of her voice.

"I don't suppose telling you that you're in my bedroom will do any good," he mumbled, rolling left to look at her right-ways as she glanced back across the waste of files, plastic boxes and glossy magazines with rather more skin on the covers than she remembered.

She looked young to him. He'd never been good at judging age, so he figured she could be anything from 14 to 20. Her cool expression in the face of such circumstances made her seem quite a bit older.

She reminded him of someone.

Mulder looked past her to the front door, which was locked. She was either hiding from someone… or she hadn't come in the door at all.

"Who are you?" he asked, every muscle suddenly, painfully still.

"Qu—Suh—Susan." He let out a held breath and she looked down in apparent confusion at her old clothes. "Drat," she said. "Now I suppose I'll never get back, and where is everything? The wardrobe, the room—Lucy said no time had passed, and yet it's all different." She started looking around her in earnest and he turned on the light. She blinked and stared at the television, still buzzing quietly. He turned it off with the remote and then she was staring at him.

"Where am I?"

"Arlington, Virginia. U.S." He paused. "1996."

Her mouth made a little "o" but no sound. Mulder got up.

"Here, sit down. I'll get you a Coke." He hoped he had something like that in the fridge. It was hard to predict these things. But there was a can in the back, left over no doubt from some late-night take-out session from before Scully took her vow of Diet.

He didn't have any ice but there was a clean glass so he poured the drink and grabbed a half-eaten bag of Oreos. When he returned to the living room, his visitor was looking at his shelves, his fish, the photo of Samantha on his desk. She paused in front of it. "Your sister?" she asked.

Mulder swallowed, wishing he'd thought to get something stronger than Coke for himself. "How did you guess?"

"She looks like you," she said. That she looked like her, neither of them mentioned. "You remind me of someone." Susan turned and Mulder offered her the glass. She took a large sip, coughed at the carbonation, and stared quizzically at the biscuits the strange man had thrust at her. They didn't look anything like food.

Mulder sat down on the couch. "So. English. How'd you end up here?"

"I… I probably shouldn't be talking to you."

Mulder ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah… Well, you turned up in my apartment—which I can't say I mind, exactly—so I think the burden of proof lies on you. I'm not going to hurt you." He remembered something. "My name's Fox."

She smiled then as if at some private joke and perched on the coffee table. "That's a nice name. I wish I could tell you where I'm from, but I can't even explain it myself, really. I just hope I can get back. My brothers and sister will worry, and there's so much… Where is your sister?"

"She's gone." As quickly as Susan had appeared. "I haven't seen her since I was younger than you are. I still haven't found her." The silence was cumbersome and Mulder tried to pick up the thread of conversation. "Where are your parents?"

Susan smiled again, but now she looked at him with less suspicion. "I haven't seen them in a long time either. We—my brother Peter and me, mostly—take care of ourselves."

"That's a big job for a little girl."

Susan sat up straight and Mulder had, for a moment, an incomprehensible image of her in much finer clothes, holding court. "I am not a little girl," she said. The words were those of a child protesting her bedtime, but the tone was not.

Mulder believed her.

"No, I can see you aren't. It still must be difficult, being responsible." Not that he'd know from personal experience, of course. But he'd watched Scully.

"It gets… lonely," Susan said. She bowed her head and a curtain of dark hair fell across her face. After a moment, Mulder reached forward to smooth it back and the girl looked up at him with eyes glinting in the weak lamplight. "It's just us, you see," she said quickly. "Oh, there's Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers and the rest, but it's not…" She grasped his hand as it lingered near her hair and cupped it to her face. "There's no one like you."

The man had leaned forward to hear her, and Susan found herself bridging the remaining distance until she could feel his breath on her mouth and then she pressed her lips to his, as courtiers pressed lips to her hand, but this was altogether different. For one thing, the courtiers' lips did not move against her like this, but it was soft and pleasant and somehow matched the feeling lower down that she got sometimes late at night. That had sent her into that closet in Cair Paravel to be alone. The one that had let her out in this man's room.

Mulder felt his hands begin to stray down her arms, across her back, this surprising little creature sent from above. She trembled and he fingered her waist, her hair, her little hands as they bunched in his t-shirt. Finally, proof of alien contact, he thought, and I'm making out with it.

"I can't," they both said, and pulled apart to stare at each other from arm's length. She was flushed and fever-eyed and he felt shame, though not much, when he looked down to catch sight of a drooping knee-sock.

"Tell me where you're from," he insisted, his hands still clasping her arms. "I need to know."

"I can't."

"When did they take you? Where have you been all these years? Did you… have you seen my sister? How did you get back here?"

"I don't know!" she said.

"Just tell me who took you. What the ship looks like. Anything." His eyes as he looked up at her were filled with longing, and the look itself made her wish to be the thing he longed for so she could give it to him.

She shook her head and stood up from him. "I don't know what you're talking about. I shouldn't have done that. I… I have to find a way back." She pressed her fingers to his lips and he pulled her down for another kiss, because it seemed the most prudent thing to do. She didn't fight it, but when they stopped she jerked away again. "I'm sorry. I can't—"

The girl turned and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Mulder got to it a few seconds later and opened it to a flurry of magazines, disks and files.

But no Susan.

Surveying the wreckage, he wondered if there could possibly be some kind of temporal or transportational hotspot in his unused bedroom. The aliens, it would seem, had whisked her away again, just as she'd come. And he didn't have any more answers. Or any proof, other than the flat soda sitting forgotten next to his sister's photo.

But he had hope.

She leaned against the heavy oak door, staring down at the renewed folds of her velvet gown. For a moment she felt a twinge of regret, somewhere deep inside her, that she had run off so quickly. But that was not her time, and he was not hers.

But to be looked at that way, again, she would do nearly anything.


End file.
